


Some Rise By Sin

by poisonivory



Series: Rise and Fall [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: M/M, Seven Deadly Sins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-17 23:22:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5889094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonivory/pseuds/poisonivory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Matt Murdock and the seven deadly sins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pride

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a kinkmeme prompt! There'll be a follow-up with the seven heavenly virtues after this.
> 
> Title comes from _Measure for Measure_.

Matt's dad used to brag about him all the time.

“This is my boy Matty,” he’d say to his trainer, the bartender, even his opponents before they stepped into the ring. “Smart as a whip, this kid. You should see how fast he tears through books. And straight As, every semester. He's gonna be a doctor or a lawyer or something someday, you wait and see.” Even after Matt's accident the praise didn't stop: “You should see how fast he picked up Braille. Nothing slows my Matty down. He's a frickin’ genius.”

Matt hadn't thought much of it at the time. That was just how parents were: embarrassing. It's not until Foggy that anyone's as effusive about him again, and he realizes he's completely forgotten how to cope with it.

Foggy on the phone with his parents in the hall that first day, unaware that Matt can hear him: “You remember Matt Murdock, that kid in the papers who went blind saving the old man like ten years ago? He’s my roommate! No, seriously! I’m living with an actual, real-life hero! And he’s totally down to Earth about it, not a dick at all. He seems like a super cool guy.”

Foggy drunk and gregarious at a bar that doesn’t card, having apparently forgotten who’s supposed to be whose wingman here: “Ladies, don’t be fooled by how implausibly good looking Matt is because he is _not_ just a pretty face. He also has a pretty _soul_. Matt, tell them about your pretty soul. No, you suck at this, shut up, I’ll do it.”

Foggy presenting Matt to his parents at Thanksgiving while Matt tried to look grateful and normal and not like a pathetic, friendless urchin: “Mom, Dad, this is Matt. I mean, of course they know all about you, Matt, I talk you up all the time, but seriously, Matt’s the greatest, you’re gonna love him, he’s smarter than me and much better behaved, I’ve already emotionally prepared myself to be ousted from the family in favor of him, it’s fine.”

It’s not until Matt’s lying on an air mattress crammed into Foggy’s tiny room next to his childhood bed that he realizes he’s in trouble. “See? What’d I tell you?” Foggy asks. “My parents loved you. I bet they’re looking into adoption paperwork right now.”

Matt wiggles a little on the mattress, feeling overstuffed and cozy and very content. “They’re really nice.”

“They’re not being _nice_ ,” Foggy says, although Matt can tell from his tone that he’s grinning. “You _seduced_ them with your charm and your jawline and your impeccable nun-trained manners. You never give anyone a chance to resist you, Murdock. It’s unfair.”

Matt beams up at the ceiling. He’s warm all over, basking in Foggy’s praise - and then a memory hits him out of nowhere.

 _You think you’re something special because you finally got that kick right? Getting it right’s what you’re_ supposed _to do. It just means you didn’t fuck it up for once. Now try not to fuck it up again._

Stick’s voice doesn’t ambush Matt frequently these days, but it’s never totally gone, either. And even if Matt knows Stick was perhaps unfairly harsh about the kick in question, it’s ridiculous for him to be lying here feeling so pleased with himself because Foggy likes him. Foggy likes _everyone_.

And even if Foggy says that he likes Matt _better_ than anyone else - “You’re my _best friend_ , Murdock,” arm slung heavy and warm over Matt’s shoulders - well, that’s only because he doesn’t know the real Matt. Because Matt is _lying_ to him.

“Sorry,” Matt says, keeping his tone light with an effort, and rolls over. Enough preening over being lucky enough to get some of Foggy’s attention. He’ll be better in the future.


	2. Envy

Marci, Matt reminds himself, is a perfectly nice person.

Well, no - _nice_ isn’t really the best word for her. But she’s not a _bad_ person, and she’s smart, and wickedly funny, and most importantly she makes Foggy really happy, so Matt really shouldn’t be gritting his teeth every time Foggy mentions her.

It’s just...Foggy mentions her a _lot_.

“So just to let you know, I’m probably going to wind up sleeping at Marci’s tonight,” Foggy says over breakfast in the dining hall. “Well, I don’t know if we’re going to be doing that much _sleeping_ …” He kicks Matt’s ankle playfully under the table.

Matt dredges up all the inner calm he’s learned from meditation. “You need your rest,” he says serenely. “You’re a growing boy.”

“I can skip a night, _Mom_ ,” Foggy says. “Anyway I didn’t want you to worry when I didn’t come home.”

Matt just nods. As if he couldn’t figure it out; as if he can’t _smell_ Marci on Foggy every time they’re together. Foggy even smells like her now for some reason, which Matt doesn’t understand until he realizes that she’s been in Foggy’s bed enough to leave her perfume on his sheets.

For a moment, Matt has an insane urge to do Foggy’s laundry for him while he’s gone, dump everything in a washer with the mild baby detergent Matt uses on his own clothes because it doesn’t hurt his nose, run it twice or three times until nothing smells like Marci and everything smells like _Matt_. Foggy will never notice, probably, except to be grateful that he doesn’t have to wash his own sheets, and, and…

And he’s being _ridiculous_ , Matt tells himself sharply. What does he care if Foggy smells like Marci? She’s his _girlfriend_. He _should_ smell like her. It’s a nice perfume, anyway, expensive and subtle - it’s not exactly a hardship to smell.

Foggy hums a little as he eats, like he does when he’s thinking. “I might ask Marci if she wants to have dinner with my parents sometime soon,” he says. “I know we haven’t been dating too long, but...I dunno. I really like her, Matt.”

Matt chews the bite in his mouth very carefully and swallows. “I’m glad she makes you happy,” he says.

Maybe he’ll _burn_ the sheets.


	3. Lust

In his dream, the sheets only smell of Foggy.

“ _Matt_ ,” Foggy sighs, warm against him, warm and soft except where he’s _hard_ , so hard and hot that it sets Matt’s blood thundering in his ears. “Matt, please, please, I want you.”

Matt shivers at the sound. _I want you._ He lets his fingers wander over Foggy’s skin. Foggy’s bare and willing beneath him, and Matt loves the way the pads of his fingers raise a trail of gooseflesh as he explores.

“What can I have?” he asks. Whispers, really, because he can’t believe he’s even daring to ask the question. Can’t believe he dared to stand up and cross the tiny, insurmountable distance between their two beds, and that Foggy _let_ him.

But Foggy presses his face to Matt’s skin so that Matt can feel his smile. “ _Anything_.”

Matt muffles his moan against Foggy’s throat. Foggy’s blood hums fast and hot here, and Matt can _smell_ him, skin and sweat and shaving cream. Matt can always smell Foggy, Foggy’s scent a ghostly imprint on his clothes and skin after all the time they spend together, but it’s stronger than ever here, so close.

Foggy spreads his legs, cradling Matt between his thighs, and Matt pushes against his hip. _Anything_. Foggy offered _anything_ , and Matt’s dizzy with the possibilities. Foggy’s hot, clever mouth, or his soft, quick hands, or the hard length pressed like a brand against Matt’s stomach, or, or…

“Always wanted you, Matty,” Foggy murmurs in his ear, voice thick with promise. “From the first day. You knew I did.” He kisses Matt’s jaw, hot and wet. “Just waiting for you to realize you wanted me back.”

“I do.” Matt’s heart is beating out of his chest. “I do, oh God, I do, I do…”

Someone in the hall outside trips and swears and Matt lurches awake with a gasp. For a moment he just sits there, trembling, trying to work out why he’s breathing so hard and his bed is so cold.

Across the room, Foggy snuffles a little and turns over in his sleep.

_Oh_. Matt’s so hard.

Well, that explains why he was so upset about Marci, at least.

He takes a deep breath, tries to force his erection down through sheer force of will. No. Foggy is his _friend_ , his _roommate_ who _trusts_ him. One stray comment the day they met doesn’t mean anything, and even if it did…

Matt’s been lying to him since the day they met. He doesn’t deserve to touch him.

Shutting his eyes tight - not that it makes any difference to the blackness of his world - Matt lies down and pulls his sweat-damp and clammy sheets back over him. And he’s weak, so weak, and so even though he knows he shouldn’t, he listens to the steady sound of Foggy’s heartbeat, letting it lull him back to sleep.

Swallow it down. Never let Foggy know. Matt is stronger than his demons.

He has to be.


	4. Wrath

Matt’s always known he has the devil in him, but it’s never been quite so close to taking over as it is right now.

There are nine men in the warehouse, nine men between him and Foggy, and it’s not enough. Not enough to keep Matt from him. Not enough for Matt to slake his fury on.

He breaks an opponent’s leg with a vicious smile, crushes the cartilage of another’s nose with a punch to the face. The air is thick with the smell of blood. That’s only since he entered the room, though, which means it’s not Foggy’s, not much of it, anyway. That’s the only reason these men are still alive.

One of them lunges at his back and Matt whirls, foot sinking into his attacker’s stomach with a sound like rotten fruit being stepped on. The other man staggers, and Matt backhands him across the jaw, sending him tumbling to the ground. He’s over him in a heartbeat, slamming his knuckles into his face over and over again. They _took_ Foggy from him to scare him off the Li case, they _took_ him and they _hurt_ him and they _scared_ him and they might have _killed_ him if Matt hadn’t…

“Daredevil! _Daredevil!_ ”

Foggy’s voice. Matt freezes. Someone else’s blood drips hot down his fingers.

Fuck. Foggy _saw_. Foggy knows, now, knows since that awful day he nearly walked out forever, but he’s never borne witness to who Matt really is. Not before now.

“It’s okay,” Foggy says. He sounds like he’s been crying, or maybe like he wants to. “You beat them. You won. You saved me.” A ragged breath. “Can you untie me now?”

Shit. Shit, Matt was so busy trying to _avenge_ Foggy that he didn’t even think about what Foggy needed. The rage claws at his throat, thick and hot, and this time it’s at himself.

“Yeah, sorry, sorry,” he makes himself say, and hurries to Foggy’s side. It’s hard to untie the ropes around Foggy’s wrists with Matt’s hands so slick with blood.

Finally he helps Foggy to rise on shaky knees. He’s surprised when Foggy immediately envelops Matt in a hug, pressing his face to the kevlar over Matt’s throat.

“Thank you,” Foggy says.

Matt wraps his arms around Foggy and feels him tremble, all the way down. He doesn’t deserve to be _thanked_. Someone worthy of being thanked would have stopped them long before they dragged Foggy off a quiet street late at night, would have found Foggy in less than the ten hours Matt had spent frantically searching. Someone worthy of being thanked would have never let Foggy see what Matt had just done.

“It’s okay,” he says, smoothing a gloved - and bloody, so fucking bloody, he’s ruining Foggy’s shirt and he can’t stop - hand down Foggy’s back. “I’ve got you.”

He’s not gentle and he’s not kind, not like Foggy is, but he can put the devil away for now because that’s what Foggy needs. He can keep it hidden. Not forever, he knows, but at least until Foggy realizes what Matt really is and leaves for good.


	5. Gluttony

Matt thinks about it more than he likes to admit to himself, especially when he’s been drinking. _Especially_ when he’s been drinking with _Foggy_ , when Foggy gets loose and happy across the bar table from him and lets Matt lean into him more than he needs to on the way home, more than he would need to even if Matt _didn’t_ have his senses and Foggy _didn’t_ know. When Foggy lets Matt nose into the open fold of his collar and drink in the scent of him, rich and warm.

He thinks about Foggy letting him replace the barely-there brush of his nose with the flat of his tongue. He thinks about the surprised little gasp Foggy would let out, the way his fingers would tighten on the back of Matt’s jacket as Matt chased the taste of him all the way up to Foggy’s jaw.

He would wait until they got back to Matt’s apartment to kiss him properly, though. Press him up against the door and catalog everything he could taste on Foggy’s lips, his tongue: the cheap Chapstick he favors; the bitter kick of Josie’s bottom-shelf poison; salt and oregano from a dollar slice pizza dinner and the caramel of a late-afternoon Snickers craving and _way_ too much coffee, now stale and sour. To someone without Matt’s senses it might sound gross, being able to taste everything Foggy’s put in or on his mouth all day, but to Matt it’s just another way to get closer, deeper, _more_ ; to map out Foggy’s entire day on his tongue and know that he spent it with Matt. That he _chooses_ to spend it with Matt.

Matt’s impatient and greedy as a rule, but he’d take his time once he had Foggy in his bed, starting at those lips and working his way down. He’d memorize every whimper, every half-stifled sigh as he licked and bit and soothed with kisses, the sweetness of Foggy and the salt-sweat dried on his skin and the way his moans reverberated through his skin like a taste Matt can _hear_.

He’d swallow the startled noise of realization Foggy would make when Matt settled between his thighs, nose up the seam of them and hum in anticipation. Tease and tease until Foggy was begging and then give him what he wanted. Drink down every sound he made, every gasp of pleasure, and not stop when Foggy climaxed, not when there were so many subtleties of Foggy’s body to commit to memory.

Even in his fantasies, Matt knows he’ll never get enough.


	6. Sloth

“Matt. Matt!”

Matt jerks in his chair. He has to stay alert, he’s fighting, he’s - no, he’s late for work - 

No. The smell of furniture polish and wood pulp and Foggy and Karen and the pizza place downstairs. He’s _at_ work. Foggy is talking, and...he’s fine. He just lost a little time there.

“Matt.” Foggy leans in to peer at his face. Matt wonders what he sees. “Did you just fall asleep in your chair? In the middle of a sentence?”

He probably wasn’t actually _asleep_ , medically speaking. Certainly not REM sleep or anything. “...No?” he offers.

“Did you sleep last night?” Matt must flinch or something, because Foggy sighs. His voice lowers so Karen can’t hear. “When was the last time you got more than a cat nap? And remember, I can’t hear your heart but I’m trusting you to tell me the truth anyway.”

It’s the guilt trip that gets Matt, as Foggy knew it would. “Monday night,” Matt admits, and hears Foggy suck in a sharp breath. It’s Friday. “I’ve been catnapping a lot, though!” he adds hastily. “When I get in from patrol, before work, and again after dinner and before I go out.”

“Which means you’ve had, what...six hours of sleep in the past seventy-two hours?” Foggy asks. He stands up suddenly, decisively. “All right, get up.”

“What?”

“Get up and get your cane. I’m putting you to bed.”

For a moment the longing rising up in Matt’s throat threatens to choke him - and then his sleep-deprived brain catches up and realizes that Foggy’s not getting _into_ bed with him. “I’m fine,” he insists.

“ _Matthew_.”

It’s Foggy’s “no arguments” tone, and though Matt has in fact argued with it many times, sometimes even successfully, he’s just too tired to do it right now. He gets his cane.

In his apartment, Foggy pushes him towards the bedroom, then drops his briefcase on the couch. “I’m working from here to make sure you don’t try to sneak out and take down a, a mattress-tag-cutting-off ring instead of sleeping,” he informs Matt.

“I’m really fine,” Matt tries, one last protest. “Give me a couple of hours and I’ll come join you.”

Foggy points to his feet. “Shoes off. And no. _At least six_ , and then a full eight tonight. I will wrestle you into that bed myself if that’s what it takes.”

Well. Matt’s not _opposed_ to the idea. But. “We have four cases going right now,” he points out. “And I need to go out tonight, I’ve been trying to figure out who’s sneaking assault rifles into the Kitchen and I’m so close…”

“Matt. The work will keep. And if you’re so exhausted that you slip up and get _dead_ from one of those assault rifles, I will never forgive you.” Foggy’s tone is light, but Matt can hear the worry behind it, and the stubbornness. “Now take off your pants and get into bed.”

Matt wavers for a minute, swaying slightly on his feet. He wants to fight. He _should_ fight.

He can’t remember what they’re fighting about.

He startles, a little, when Foggy gently takes his glasses off, folds them, and puts them on the nightstand. “Pants, Murdock.”

Matt’s...probably imagining an uptick in Foggy’s heartbeat when he shucks his pants off. Either way, he obediently tugs his tie and overshirt off as well and climbs into bed.

“I’ll be right out there if you need anything. Otherwise I don’t want to see you again for at least six hours, okay?” Foggy says, and Matt nods against his pillow. He’s already drifting, but Foggy’s hand on his hair is warm and grounding. “Sweet dreams, hero.”

Matt follows Foggy’s heartbeat out of the room and onto the couch. He should get up; he _knows_ he needs to get up. It’s not fair to make Foggy do all the work, and Daredevil has work to do besides.

But the beat of Foggy’s heart is soothing and familiar, and as always, it makes Matt weak.

He sleeps.


	7. Greed

Matt’s needy, he knows that. He asks too much of people, takes more and more until they’re drained and empty. Until there’s nothing left for Matt to use up.

He already knows he asks too much of Foggy. Being Foggy’s best friend should have been enough to satisfy Matt - no, being Foggy’s _friend_ should’ve been enough, let alone being the one who for some inexplicable reason he likes the most. He’s lucky, so lucky to get Foggy’s kindness and his warmth and his bright humor, and he should have left it at that.

But no, he had to ask Foggy to uproot his entire life for Matt, to give up the brilliant career he worked so hard for and follow Matt into uncertainty and debt. He knew he needed it, Foggy’s brains and his ease with clients and his way with a jury, but he’d had no right to ask for it.

He’d never intended for Foggy to also become his confidante, his ally, his _accomplice_ , but it had happened. And Foggy, in the end, had given that too.

Now Foggy’s his best friend and his partner and his helpmeet, his part-time nurse when Claire’s not around, his nutritionist when he forgets to eat and his alarm clock more days than not. He’s Matt’s solid ground and sometimes - often - the only thing that makes him smile all day.

Matt can’t ask for more.

So he holds it in, and he smiles, and he burns. He’ll never let a word of this, his last secret, cross his lips. He indulges in every other sin he can name around Foggy, at least in his heart of hearts, but this one...this one maybe he can fight. Maybe he’s not totally, irrevocably damned.

Maybe if he can be generous enough to let Foggy go, he’ll have earned enough grace to keep him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, I wouldn't leave them like that! Sequel here: [And Some By Virtue Fall](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5965558/chapters/13709899)


End file.
